Chapter 25
The old empty rectory sat not a stone's throw from the Norman church. No one lived there anymore except the caretakers, Mr. and Mrs. Whitlace. They were both very old, and now had a young man to help with the garden and the churchyard that lived in the room next to theirs above the old kitchen. Luckily, he did his work and kept to himself, with a routine as regular as clockwork.
Occasionally other humans came to stay, but none of them ever really stayed. The old house has a reputation for being haunted and human visits tended to be both sporadic and short. One glimpse of the little ghost girl in her little bonnet, sitting at the curve of the main stairs crying, or a couple of nights of hearing the ghostly footprints walking around the downstairs rooms and the humans were off again.
The wide, emerald green rectory lawn led down to the stream and across the way there was a pond, with a small island in the middle. Spiller was an expert at hiding boats along the stream and in the rushes. He had all sizes, large ones that the whole family could travel in and small ones just enough for one or two borrowers to take on quick trips carrying provisions for the various families they knew. Spiller was an expert on boats and boating. He had made some progress teaching other, particularly Arrietty's cousin, Halberd, who was now nearly almost as good, but not quite.
The house itself had latticed windows and an iron studded front door that no borrower ever used. They went in as they always had, either through the grating window, or through the old conservatory. And on this day, someone new had come slipping through the jagged hole under the door to the conservatory to look around and take a drink at the dripping tap.
Rosemary found him there and watched him curiously. She liked to come to the conservatory of a morning, to see what the weather was like and what the grounds looked like. She liked the way the sunlight fell slantingly across side of the house, the way it warmed the glass windows and in turn, the spaces inside.
The boy had brown hair, very shaggy, and the bluest eyes Rosemary had ever seen. He was wearing a tunic and trousers made of shabby old moleskin worn smooth side out. Her father often wore such an outfit but he always wore a vest instead of a tunic. This boy looked to be in his mid to late teens, just about her age.
She had never seen him before but she was not afraid of him. She'd never met a borrower that was not nice, even her Great-Aunt Lupy who could be very crabby at times. She watched him carefully as he took a long drink of water from the old cup that stood under the tap. That cup had been put there by her Uncle Peagreen, long before Rosemary had even been born.
He used to like to tell Rosemary, when he came to visit, how he had come for water and found her mother instead. What a shock that had been for him! He had lived alone for a long time before that, but it was a lucky day for him in more ways than one. By making friends with her mother, he had become better friends with her father, and wound up marrying her father's sister, Larkspur, and now they were quite a happy old married couple with towheaded children that looked exactly like her uncle, minus his limp of course. He had broken his leg very severely when he was a child and it had not healed properly. No one minded, though. Peagreen was Rosemary's favorite uncle. She couldn't wait to see him again, when he and his family came down from Cairncross Lodge, where Uncle Peagreen and Aunt Lark's tame human lived with her husband and children.
When the new boy finished drinking and wiped his mouth Rosemary cheerfully said, "Good morning!" He raised his head quickly, like a startled animal, and stared at her as she stepped forward. "I said good morning," Rosemary repeated. "My name is Rosemary, like the herb. What's yours?"
He swallowed hard, both startled and impressed. She was a pretty girl with long black hair, black eyes, and a sky blue dress trimmed with a collar made from a very narrow band of white lace. He's never seen such small lace and wondered where in the world she had gotten it. She wore a white pinafore over her dress, and black boots with small black beads on the sides for buttons. He finally answered, "Kinsman. Sorry. I didn't know anyone lived here."
"Well, we do," said Rosemary cheerfully, tucking her hands into her pinafore pockets. "That is, my family does. My, you look just like my father does sometimes when he comes back from a hunting trip. You're filthy!"
"Your father?" The boy's eyes darted around as he wiped his hands on the sides of his trousers. "Where is he? Like I said, I didn't know anyone was here. Just been walking such a long way and was thirsty."
"He's with my mother and my brothers and sisters. I have two sisters and two brothers, all younger than I am," Rosemary replied. "Where did you walk from? Did you come from the woods or the lake or from the river?"
"Come from everywhere, sort of," the boy answered. "I've been walking a long time. I don't have brothers, or sisters, or a father any more, or a mother either. Mum and Father died, you see, and I couldn't stay where I was so I just started walking. I thought I was the last borrower left in the world for awhile."
This made Rosemary laugh."But there are so many borrowers! How could you think that? There's my mother and father, and my sisters, Anise and Ginger, and I have two brothers, Basil and Alder. And there's my Great-Aunt Lupy and Uncle Hendreary. They live in the church over yonder with their son Timmis. Timmis is married to my father's almost-sister Actina. She's an almost sister because they grew up together, you see."
Kinsman didn't really see, but he nodded as she continued. He liked looking at her and listening to the sound of her voice and he was relieved to have someone else to talk to again, especially a pretty, friendly girl.
"They have two daughters named for flowers. Marigold is a year old and Violet is four. Timmis and Actina moved here to be near my family when they got married. There's a drain beside the vestry wall. When we do go visit, for birthdays or whatever, we go through there to get to where they live. Timmis was always very fond of my mother and father, but Aunt Lupy missed him so much she made Uncle Hendreary bring her here, too. My mother wasn't that happy about it, but she doesn't have to spend much time over there. Hendreary and Lupy had another son, Grego, and a daughter named Eggletina, but they stayed at the old cottage when everyone else moved here. Eggletina likes to be alone and Grego is a bit surly."
"That is a lot of borrowers, though!" The boy looked stunned.
"Oh, that's not the half of them," Rosemary said, laughing again. When she laughed he smiled. It had been so long since he had heard anyone laugh. 'There's Halberd and Hemiola. They're cousins of ours. They live by Perkin's Beck. They have two boys left at home. Midland and Pendant are their names. There was a girl, Mistier, but she married Benison. His parents are friends of my father's, Arista and Burgonet. They have a daughter, too. Her name is Rosiness, and then there's Grandma Sateen. She's even further downriver. Her husband passed away when I was small, but she has her three remaining daughters living with her. They take very good care of her."
"Goodness," the boy said shaking his shaggy hair out of his eyes. "I guess I'm not the last one after all. And you see all of these Borrowers?"
"When my father takes us on the river I do, at least twice a year and sometimes more. We go all the way down to Cairncross Lodge. That's where my Uncle Peregrine and Aunt Larkspur live. My Uncle Peregrine is one of the smartest borrowers I know. He's read hundreds of books. He grew up in the library here." She pointed in the direction of the library doors. "He's an Overmantle. You should hear him read Shakespeare. Have you ever read any stories by William Shakespeare?"
The boy shook his head bashfully hating to admit he wasn't much of a reader. He knew his alphabet and that was about it. He'd never had much of a chance to read.
"Oh, I hope you stay long enough to meet my uncle, then. His real name is Peregrine but my father calls him Peagreen. It's sort of a family joke, you see. I'll have to get Uncle Peagreen to tell you some of those stories. All of their children, Uncle Peagreen and Aunt Lark's I mean, are named after characters in Shakespeare's stories. There's Bianca, Henry, Cordelia, and Richard. I think Henry is sweet on Rosiness. All of the other borrowers come to visit here when they can and some of them meet us at Little Fordham for part of the summer. My family spends the summer there with Miss Louisa, our human friend."
"Human beans can't be trusted," the boy said, drawing himself up haughtily. "That's what my father said. His parents ran away to try to live where there were no human beans. That didn't work so well. Grandpa Lickspit and Grandmother Glisten both died fairly young. My father found a family living in a field near Holmcraft near the gas pipe. There were two brothers that called themselves the Broom Cupboard boys, and one of them was married to a woman who used to be a Sink. They were all from Firbank Hall."
"My mother was from Firbank Hall!" Rosemary exclaimed, clapping her hands and spinning around in front of the cracked glass door to the garden in delight. "She was a Clock. I wonder if she knew them. No, she wouldn't have," Rosemary amended, "but her parents would have. They died before I was born."
"That house isn't there anymore. Well, the house is, but it's a school for human girls now," the boy told her. "Anyway, this Broom Cupboard fellow and his wife had a girl named Tressy, and she married my father after he agreed that they'd have to borrow from human beans at least some of the time. They were used to living out of doors, but that family was convinced borrowers can't live without human beans after all. My father agreed. He knew Granddad had been wrong about that."
"I agree with your father," Rosemary said thoughtfully. "As my mother says, human beans are for borrowers, like bread is for butter."
The boy walked over and sat on the edge of the drain and Rosemary sat with him. "This seems like a nice house."
"My mother says this is the happiest home she's ever had," Rosemary told him, "and she's lived in quite a few places during her life."
They both looked around, at the cracked tiles, the piled up plant pots and the garden beyond. It had just been dug up and planted for spring. The lettuce would come first, Rosemary knew, then the herbs including the rosemary for which she was named. There would be peas and potatoes, strawberries and raspberries, and Brussels sprouts as big as cabbages to a borrower. There were already flower buds on the fruit trees.
"I can live outdoors when I must, and when Mum and Dad were killed it seemed like I must." Kinsman said with a sigh.
Tears filled Rosemary's eyes. "I don't know what I'd do without Mother and Papa. What happened to your parents?"
"Foxes," he said grimly. "We had a nice hole in a bank but the foxes decided it suited them as well. We smelled them first. Foxes have a very distinctive smell. Dad told me to run so I did. I thought he and Mum were right behind me. I kept running until I couldn't run anymore. I got over the bank and squeezed into the crack of a hollow tree. I looked back and said, 'We made it!' but there wasn't no we. Just me. Foxes strike quick."
Rosemary reached out and took his hand. Her long soft fingers wrapped around his calloused ones. "I'm so sorry."
Her fingers were not like his, calloused and rough, with dirt under the nails. They were softer, and her nails were perfect ovals. He looked down at her fingers and thought about how long it had been since anyone had touched him, about how long it had been since he'd had anyone to talk to. He was talking to her even though he didn't know her, but he was talking to her in a way precisely because he didn't know her. All of these thoughts crashed through his mind as he raised his head and looked at her.
"How old are you?" the friendly girl asked.
"Seventeen next month," he answered. "End of April."
She squeezed his hand harder. "I'll be sixteen in May. You really should stay here with us. We'll go to Little Fordham in April. You'd like Little Fordham."
Spiller walked through the library doors, and glanced through the glass door that led to the garden. He was interested in what kind of a day it was but he was also wondering where Rosemary had gotten to. Spiller adored all his children. They were everything he'd ever wanted, but Rosemary was his favorite in many ways. For one thing she was the first one and that had been such a miracle to him that he'd never gotten over the wonder of her birth. She was Spiller and Arrietty's shared joy, and made the whole world over again for them. Then there was her personality.
Rosemary had her mother's mannerisms, her father's looks and she never dissembled. She had absolutely no natural reserve. She'd been a lovely black-haired, dark-eyed baby. As a toddler she had been cheerful one moment and sobbing the next. Like sunshine she lit the way everywhere she went and had charmed everyone who saw her. Spiller thought back to when she had been small, when Sateen made her beautiful dresses, finer than she had ever made her own daughters and Peagreen told her special stories and when he came back to the rectory pulled her in the wagon for hours. Even Lupy would take the child on her lap and tell her how things were at the big house when she was a girl.
It was different of course, now that Sateen had grandchildren and Peagreen had children of his own but everyone still loved Rosemary. She was growing into a very lovely young lady. It startled Spiller sometimes to look at the young woman she had become when he was so used to seeing her as a child.
When he heard the voices he froze. He could still make himself invisible when he wanted to, and he wanted to now. Rosemary had never spoken to a human. Even Arrietty had impressed upon her the importance of that. That was something an adult could do when it was absolutely necessary, but only when it was absolutely necessary and something children never did. So he was sure it was not a human she was talking to, but the voice was unfamiliar.
Then he realized in some strange way it was familiar. He carefully edged closer. Rosemary was sitting in the conservatory with a boy, a boy Spiller had never seen before, and they were holding hands. Holding hands! This was a terrible shock to him,
When he stepped out of the shadows, Rosemary, who had spent her whole life straining to hear him coming home when he was due back from various trips, looked up. "Oh, Papa," she said. "Look! It's a new friend. He's been walking a long way, and found our tap and took a drink and I saw him, and now he's a friend!"
When the boy looked up apprehensively, Spiller drew in his breath sharply. "Martinet!" he breathed.
The boy looked puzzled. "That was my father's name. His name was Martinet, and my mother's name was Tressy. They're gone now, the foxes got them, but please, Sir, tell me. Did you know them?"
"I knew him all right," Spiller admitted. "We were friends once, your father and I, very good friends, until Lickspit, his father, convinced his mother, Glisten, to go off into the wild. Then I never heard from him again."
"Then you are already a friend, Kinsman," Rosemary said, clapping her hands in delight again. She looked up at Spiller. "This is wonderful. He'll have someone to talk to about his father. I'm sure he misses him every so much. Kinsman can stay here, can't he, Papa? He's all alone. I can't imagine what it would be like to be all alone. It must be dreadful. I told him to stay, and that if he stays long enough, he can go to Little Fordham with us and meet lots of borrowers. Papa, please?"
Spiller looked at his daughter, so happy and hopeful, and looked at the boy, who was also looking at Rosemary, but with a look of adoration that made Spiller want to spit. But he couldn't do that. He really couldn't. I'll have to try and like him, Spiller thought to himself. I've really got to try.
Out loud he merely said, "Let's go see what your mother thinks. She's making breakfast and when your mother cooks a meal, there's always enough for whoever comes along. Your friend looks like he could use some breakfast. Couldn't you, boy?"
"Yes, Sir. I've had nothing but dandelions and watercress to eat for days and days, and I really am hungry. I caught a fish down by the stream one day, but other than that I haven't had much to eat since I set out from home."
"There aren't many fish this time of year," Spiller said flatly, putting his arms akimbo. That the boy had gotten one at all forced Spiller to grudgingly admire him.
When the two young people got up from the edge of the drain, Rosemary reached out and took the strange boy's hand again. Spiller turned on his heel and as he began to march toward the library, the wind blowing through the weedy gravel sounded almost like a voice. For a moment Spiller could have sworn it was Homily's voice, snorting, "Hmmph!" just as she used to do. Then he shook his head to clear it and they all went to look for Arrietty. Arrietty would know what to do.
Author's Notes: As a child I read The Borrowers, The Borrowers Afield, The Borrowers Afloat and The Borrowers Aloft several times each year. They were my favorite books. I used to get shuffled between my father's house and my mother's house, and when I was lonely the borrowers became my friends. I got to the point where I could recite huge passages of the books from memory. I also spent hours wondering what happened to them, about Spiller's background and his mysterious other customers, and what became of Spiller and Arrietty. I thought up all sorts of possibilities.
When I was much older someone gave me The Borrowers Avenged book, thinking it would please me. Instead it broke my heart. There was so much I didn't like about it. Lupy's religious fervor, the disappearance of Eggletina and her brothers, the ghosts, which I do admit made a good excuse not to have to deal with humans at the rectory, but still, I didn't like them. The different spelling of Timmis' name irritated me and the loss of Spiller made me furious. Everything in the previous books had seemed to me to be leading up to his shared future with Arrietty, right up to Homily's last thought in The Borrowers Aloft that she had to try to like Spiller in the face of the obvious joy on her daughter's face.
I had longed to hear about more borrowers and I liked Peagreen as a character, but what I saw as an obvious attempt to make him appear a more suitable suitor for Arrietty infuriated me. The Arrietty I knew would not have accused the Spiller who ran to Tom Goodenough to enlist his aid in rescuing her family from the gypsies of being a coward when it came to human beans. She would never have so quickly changed her allegiance from one love to another, and neither would he. Spiller loved Arrietty in his own way as I saw it, and I felt sure he would have found a way to compromise between the differences in their lifestyles. I had spent years imaging how that could be done. And when I finally had to time I decided to do it. I didn't realize at the time it would turn into such an epic but my old friends just kept leading me on until this is what I did. It helped me a lot to put it all down. Thank you for reading it.